Flight
by and that's all she wrote
Summary: "You're always supposed to land on your feet." :: Because almost every bird falls sometime. What happens after that depends on who's there to catch said bird. KF/Rob bromance and/or hinted Birdflash. oneshot. based on a piece of art by rytm333 on tumblr.


To this day, he's still not sure how it happened.

They're in the middle of a scuffle, each of them dealing with their own opponents of the rooftop of this building he can't remember the name of right now because he's _slightly _distracted by the guns all around.

It's all he can do to disarm every single mook, ensuring his team's safety. The role is familiar to him, and he takes it very seriously; being a group of teenagers without firearms means they're at a disadvantage from the get-go.

But he always takes care of it, and once he's done, they can all relax a little.

He tosses the last gun over the ledge and into the open dumpster below before turning with a gleeful smile and returning to the fray.

He goes to Kaldur first, knocking a few speed punches into the horde of grunts surrounding him.

_Kid,_ Kaldur calls across the link, _assist Artemis._

He glances outward, to where Artemis is practically backed against the building's edge.

_Oh, no, you don't!_

He threw himself in her direction, quickly thinning the ranks surrounding Artemis. She was incredibly effective at long-range, but close-quarter fighting still gave her some trouble.

_What happened to your crossbow?_ he asked.

_Ran out of arrows,_ she replied tersely, knocking her bow into another man before knocking him out with an elbow to the temple.

_Aw, you, really? I would have thought—_

_ROBIN!_

It's Artemis' that cuts him off, and he skids to a stop and whirls to see what made her scream.

He catches a flash of yellow and black disappearing over the building's edge.

After that, everything slows down about 100 miles per hour.

It's something he's grown used to: people's speech becomes warped, movement is at a snail's pace. The world becomes reminiscent of the slow motion frames used in his favorite cheesy comedies. It's what happens when his mind picks up this much speed, this quickly.

_He should have his grappling hook but what if he's unconscious and Miss Martian's too busy to catch him right now oh god no no no no no—_

Two milliseconds.

That's how long it takes for him to make the connection, and then for the neurons to send the signal to his brain, and finally to his feet.

He's pretty sure he barely touches the ground, at the speed he's going.

At the edge of the building, he doesn't even pause—he just throws himself over, running straight down and stopping abruptly where Robin lies on the cold pavement, limbs askew.

_Wings broken_.

Blood pools underneath Robin's head, and Wally's breath is already going a mile a minute.

"Rob? Rob! Rob, c'mon, kid, wake up. Wake up, wake up, wake up—"

Wally turns the younger boy over and puts his head in his lap, sending blood down his face in streams.

Faintly, as though he's in a dream, he can hear someone coming down the fire escape at a breakneck pace.

"KF," Artemis comes running up behind him, and he notices her footsteps stop short once she's close enough to see. "_Jesus_."

He looks up at her, barely registering her words. Her expression—gray eyes wide, horrified; mouth ajar, with her hand lifted as though she was just covering it—is nothing short of terrified.

She joins Wally on the ground and pushes Robin's hair aside, revealing what Wally expects is only a fraction of his wounds.

"He needs a hospital," she says. When Wally doesn't respond, she looks up at him. "_Now,_ Wally—he needs _you_."

And just like that, the numbness that had spread to his limbs drains away. In an instant, he has Robin in his arms, adjusted so that nothing can become further damaged by the run he's about to take.

"Goggles—"

But he doesn't wait for Artemis to pull them down—he's already gone.

With every step, with the rhythm of the pounding his feet makes on the pavement, a mantra runs through his head:

_No, no—not him. Not him, not him..._

* * *

"Broken ribs, internal bleeding there and concussions—"

"Miracle he isn't parapalegic—"

"Miracle he's _alive._"

Wally begins to blink blearily awake, recognizing he's sitting in a chair, leaning forward with his arms folded on a bed and his head resting on top.

"What would have happened if Wally hadn't been there…?"

"I don't even want to think about it."

Wally sat up, rubbing his eyes in an attempt to clear his vision.

"He's awake." Conscious now, he could make out voices—that was M'gann.

"Obviously." Artemis.

He turned around and saw the rest of the team: M'gann sitting in the other chair, Conner standing just behind her, fists clenched. Kaldur stands directly in front of the window, back erect. Artemis is off to the side, arms crossed.

In other words: he could take a picture of the scene and even the most oblivious of souls would see the tension.

"'Morning," he said, voice hoarse.

M'gann offered a smile. "Good morning."

No one really knew what to say after that, so Wally decided to abandon any attempts at weak conversation. Turning back to the bed, he finally got a good look of Robin: bandages encasing the crown of his head (down to the mask still covering his eyes), as well as the entirety of his chest. With Robin's upper body exposed, Wally can see the numerous scars covering his friend's skin.

A reminder that, in the end, Robin was also Dick Grayson.

Human.

Wally puts his elbows on his knees and covers his mouth with his hands, hunched forward as he struggles to hold himself together.

"We will leave you for a moment."

Wally barely recognizes Kaldur's voice, but hears the team's footsteps as they file toward the door and sees them—in the corner of his eye—exit in silence.

A hand—too gentle for one of the boys, too firm for M'gann—rests on his shoulder, almost making him jump. "Batman was supposed to be in here later," Artemis murmured. "Just so you're aware."

He looks over his shoulder, trying to guess her intent, but her eyes only hold sincere concern.

"Thank you."

She nodded and left without another word, and without a second glance backward.

Finally alone, Wally doesn't hesitate to take Dick's hand in his.

"_I thought I was going to lose you_," he whispers, squeezing the slender fingers between his. "You're always supposed to land on your feet."

It's all Wally can do to hold back the tears fighting to roll down his cheeks.

"You're supposed to be able to fly, remember? The Flying Graysons?"

Suddenly, the fingers in Wally's hand tighten, returning the squeeze. Wally looks up abruptly to see Robin looking at him, smiling softly.

"Those haven't been 'round fr'years, bro." His voice is foggy. "But I like that you remember."

Wally smiles. "How could I forget?"

Something in Robin's face darkens. "I know sometimes I wanna…"

Neither know what to say to that.

Wally, instead clears his throat. "I'm sorry."

Robin, who in the silence had been looking at something far off in the distance, returned his eyes to Wally. It was clear his head was still a little hazy, as his gaze wasn't as pointed as Wally would expect. "Dude," Robin said, "why're you… apologizing?"

"I wasn't fast enough."

"Thas' stupid."

Wally watches Robin's eyes, trying to make sure they aren't sliding shut. "Dude, I know you're tired—"

"Feel like a train hit me."

"—but you gotta stay awake. Concussions and everything."

"Cncussions-smncussions," Robin responded. "Hey, what would a -_cussion_ be?"

"Nothing good, I'm sure," Wally answers.

If he can keep the conversation going, he can keep Robin awake.

"Hey, Walls."

"Yeah, dude?"

"You shoudn' be sorry," Robin said, looking back at him. "Wouldn' be here without you."

Despite himself, Wally smiles. "We're going to have to agree to disagree on that one, Rob."

* * *

The day Dick finally swings out of that bed is the day the two exchange what Wally believes—to this day—to be the best hug that ever was.

"_Thanks, Walls_."

"_Anytime_."


End file.
